It's a chilly autumn evening, the last remaining leaves clinging to the trees before the harsh winter sweeps them away. Dean, a weary-eyed hunter, leans against his beloved Impala, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, a beer in hand.

Dean's solitude is interrupted as Castiel, the angel of the Lord, appears beside him. "Dean, I sense you're troubled." He doesn't notice the angel; he gets startled. "Damn it, Cas, don't do that," Dean says sternly and annoyed.